Captain
by Dear Aunt Elladora
Summary: Ever wonder when and why Oliver chose Angelina for captain?


Most guys can notify her walk: the swelte twist of her hips as she paces, the intricately equal footsteps that unnerve most and befuddle others. Oliver is no exception to this stereotype, but not because he's studied her backside as the other males have. It's because she works like clockwork, sliding into the seat opposite him every day.

"Ollie," she says brightly, wrapping her legs up around her in the chair.

He smiles down at the plans he's working on, trying to make sure she doesn't see it. She does. "Hello, Angelina," he says, "What do you have to say today?"

He keeps his head bent over his plans like always and she tosses her hair back behind her shoulders, knowing he's not watching.

"Well, you'd be quite suprised to know it's about quidditch."

He sighed, "That's a first."

"Yes, well, I considered it eventual that our slim search for topics to discuss would coincide with the one thing you can actually converse on."

"Did we not have this conversation yesterday?"

"That you're obsessed with quidditch? We only have that conversation every day, but it's good to know you remember between compulsively charting plays."

"And what about quidditch have you come to discuss?"

"Well, dear coach, you're not going to be here next year."

"Brilliant deduction, Johnson, now can I get back to this play?"

"As I was saying, you're not going to be playing on the team - which means captainship is up for grabs."

"And you know as well as any it'll be going to Kate."

She crossed her arms and he rolled his eyes to the parchment, she bit her lip - a bit miffed.

"But..." she pried, "Katie snogged Marcus Flint!"

Oliver's hand knocked over the inkwell in shock and he looked up at Angelina for the first time in the entire conversation. His eyes were wide and she was grimacing.

"Yes," she continued, "I know the visual on that is quite frightening... Flint, ugh. Oh gosh but you can't let her know I told you! She'll brain me!"

"Flint? Marcus Flint?" Oliver echoed increduosly, repeating the name over a couple times - each more shrill than the other - as he cleaned the ink mess and returned to his chart.

"So, then it's who?"

"Not the twins," Oliver sighed, closing his eyes tightly and opening them back to the play, "Mabye Alicia. But she's so tactless, I don't think she's got the mind to formulate a play."

"So it's to me?"

"I s'pose so, Johnson."

She smiled brightly and suppressed the urge to squeal with glee. He'd just made her the happiest she'd ever been, it seemed, feeling as if she was about to burst around the edges. Captain meant power, captain meant possibilities, captain meant gloating to her scholar sister.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"I s'pose I don't need one, really, captainship's the only reason you've been coming to talk to boring old me so I guess you earned it."

He shrugs his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the parchment but his quill still. Her smile falters a bit as she realizes how little he sees of himself.

"Oliver. D'you know that table full of girls over there, that's at that table a foot or two away from us everyday is here to stare at you?"

He looked up quickly and all the girls blushed and giggled, a brave few waving. His eyes rested on Angelina for a minute before returning to the play.

"And they all ask me, when I'm done talking to you, what you say." She continues, softly, consolingly, taking the quill from his hand and causing his eyes to raise from the parchment to her. She's got her raven-haired head bent, leaning forward to pull the play from under his arm.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" She questioned, smiling flirtaciously, doodling on the sheet. He couldn't see what she was drawing.

"So you haven't been coming over here to be chosen as captain?"

"No, and I don't think you're boring. Just a little obsessive, but," she said, turning the parchment toward him. His eyes flicked over his scrawl to find her curvy handwriting with two of his previously drawn figures hovering very close together near the goal posts. There's a heart around them and the words 'Angelina' and 'Oliver' labelling them.

He leans in, slowly and softly and matches his lips to hers. They break the soft kiss, which caused many of the girls at the nearby table to coo and sigh. He smiles and she smiles in response.

_"But we can fix that."_

**Author's note: **squee, I love the ending. Inspired by the Mighty Ducks movie. Yep. And ... ::thinks:: a Marcus/Katie fic on Fictionalley. Right-o. Um, I might have flunked up and Alicia was the captain, but I don't think so. Sowwy if it's like that? I've got a horrid case of insomnia. It's v. bad.

_**Review, please?**_


End file.
